


Take It Like a Man

by in_motu_proprio



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Cabin Fic, Dominant Clint Barton, Drinking, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Prostate Milking, Rough Sex, Sleep Sex, Spanking, Submissive Phil Coulson, bed sharing, demeaning language, safehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 01:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17295050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_motu_proprio/pseuds/in_motu_proprio
Summary: Coulson has had a crush on Clint for some time but Clint's pretty straight and oblivious in that Clint sort of way.  They end up at a safehouse after a particularly bad mission and pass out in bed drunk, waking up in a compromising position.





	Take It Like a Man

Safe houses could go either way. Sometimes it was a bolt hole with a cot and a coffee maker. Sometimes it was a property that had been bought for some other purpose and converted. This particular safe house was more toward the bolt hole side of the spectrum. “It’s not as much of a shit hole as I thought it was going to be,” Clint commented as he threw his pack down on the floor and headed straight for the fire. The place was a remote cabin high enough in the mountains that Phil’s ears had popped twice on their hike up to it. “Clean this out while I find some dry wood,” Clint asked Phil with a nod toward the dirty fireplace grate. “And check the flue. Don’t need to kill ourselves with carbon monoxide.” 

Phil watched as Clint pulled his jacket back on. Maybe he ought to argue and offer to go outside but he freezing and grateful to be out of the wind. He’d barely finished scooping out old soot as Clint came in flushed from the cold with an armful of wood and kindling. “There’s half a cord of wood along the east wall. It’s covered with tarps pretty well. It should burn nicely.” Clint laid down the wood and dusted off his arms and chest. There were bits of bark stuck to his jacket and Phil thought about picking them off. “Hey… Coulson,” Clint asked as he snapped in front of his face. “Stick with me, man. Don’t freak out yet. Let’s get the fire going before either of us freak out.” 

They’d been in an intense firefight and Coulson had watched five of his guys go down from direct hits to the head with high caliber weapons. Clint had pulled his ass out and got him moving after Coulson froze over the remains of a young agent Phil had recruited from Ohio. Phil had recognized himself in the young man and the acute pain of losing that mirror image of himself had hit him hard. But it was Clint’s strong, cold fingers that gripped the back of his neck and told him to move his ass. “You saved my life.” 

“Nope. Not doing that. You’ve saved my ass more times than I can count.” Coulson was on his feet walking toward Clint, not really knowing why other than that he needed to move around right now. “Help me get the fire started,” was all Clint said before he turned to start the process of laying out wood in a precise way. 

Phil recognized the layout and smiled. “Clint Barton, were you a Boy Scout?” 

“For two months while I was at a foster home in Des Moines. Free babysitting,” he told Phil. “And this is actually from when I was squatting in a cabin in northern Washington state. You had to keep a fire going because it was so damn wet that if you didn’t you were fucked starting another one.” Clint’s hair had snow in it and Phil watched a chunk start to melt and drip down the back of his neck. “Go check the cabinets? See what we’re working with?” Coulson left Clint to the fire and checked the cabinets. “I’m not going to be able to get anything tonight, but in the morning I can go hunting if we need.” 

“Well…. we’re stocked with canned foods and vodka,” Coulson said. “Lots of just add water. Does the water work? Have we tried yet?” Generally the safe houses were kept pretty clean but this one was damn remote. 

“Not yet, but we do have a metric shit ton of snow out there.” Clint grinned at the fire he’d managed to start. “And a fire… boil it, maybe there are some purifying tablets?” Phil pulled out a bottle of them and gave it a shake. “Perfect. Make us some water?” God only knew what was in the pipes so no matter what they used, the tablets were going to be part of the equation. They walked around, trying to figure out which way was up in this place, getting the water running and the fire well and truly going. After they got a small meal in, they came to the conclusion that sleeping was a good idea as it had been more than 48 hours since either of them had closed their eyes. They fell into bed mostly still clothed, passing out almost immediately. It didn’t last more than two hours before Clint woke with a start that pulled Phil out of his own slumber. They’d decided to not be weird and share the bed. It was a queen size so they had enough room and it wasn’t like Phil expected to wake up with Clint spooning him. And Phil had enough self-restraint not to do the same though Phil would be lying his ass off if he said the thought of wrapping his arms around Clint in a scenario like this hadn’t occurred to him a time or two. “You ok?” 

“… yeah, yeah,” Clint said absently, sitting up in bed next to Coulson with one hand cupping his forehead. “Sorry I woke you. I’ll go lay on the….” 

“How about some tea?” 

“… I don’t drink tea,” Clint told him. “Maybe a shot though.” 

“That can be arranged. You want me to throw some more wood on?” Clint seemed to appreciate that Coulson wasn’t pushing. He was being careful to keep his voice down, too. 

“Nah… I like it a little cold,” Clint told him as he finally swung his legs out of bed. Coulson lit a couple of candles they’d placed out from the cabinets earlier. “You didn’t have to get up.” 

“I know.” Coulson set two glasses out and poured them both a healthy dose. 

Clint picked up his glass and contemplated it a moment before raising it a little higher. “To fallen comrades.” 

“Fallen comrades,” Coulson echoed before they both took their dose in a go. 

Coulson filled them up again when Clint gave him a nod. They drank in silence for a little while before Clint finally spoke again. “Who did you see for sure.” They took a moment to talk about who Clint had seen die then who Phil had seen. They came up with two of their team missing and the rest were dead. They had another drink. Then a couple more. They talked about the agents who’d fallen, who had families and who would be going into the SHIELD vault for agents without families. That was where Phil was going to wind up. He’d already signed the release. Who would bury him? He didn’t have any family so why not take advantage of one of the company’s fringe benefits. Free funeral and burial costs. 

“I don’t want to go back to sleep,” Clint told Coulson quietly. “You don’t have to stay up. I’ll be quiet.” 

It was the darkest part of the night and Coulson certainly could have easily gone back to sleep. He felt weird doing it when Clint was so clearly in distress. “Do you want to be alone?” 

“I always want to be alone,” Clint told him evenly. And that was Clint, wasn’t it? 

“Th… then I’ll leave you.” Phil moved to stand, surprised when Clint’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Clint?” 

“Maybe stay for another drink.” There was a little tremble in his voice and Coulson didn’t think twice before he sat back down. 

He reached over to the basket on the table in front of the couch and pulled out a deck of cards, quietly dealing for War. It was an easy game, something that required little to no brain work and no conversation. They played for well over an hour before Clint spoke, asking Coulson if he wanted something to eat. “Yeah. Whatever you feel like cooking.” Clint stood and gave a stretch, his shirt riding up over his stomach, giving Coulson a long look at Clint’s muscles. God he was a good looking guy. It really wasn’t fair. “Need help?”

“Nah. Just chill.” Coulson went to the couch, futzing around until he found a book that looked palatable. It was a romance novel but it was preferable to all the spy crap on the window. Coulson wasn’t feeling too great about being an international spy at the moment. Plus, he was drunk and this was easy to read. He was through the first two chapters before Clint came over. “What the hell are you reading… The Passion of the Gods?” Clint exchanged food for the book, handing off a plate of mac and cheese with beans and franks. There were also some very orange and very goopy carrots. But it was hot and smelled good. “A series of short stories about erotic adventures with the Gods and Goddesses of Mythology.” 

“Look at the rest of my choices. I’ve read most of them plus… Mythology,” he joked. 

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s real accurate,” Clint flipped through the book, leaning back into the cushions with his plate balanced on the arm of the sofa. “… as Zeus picked him up, Jonathan could think only one thing… “ Clint’s brow rose. “So it’s gay, too?” 

The way Clint said it made Coulson twitch a little. “It’s mixed. Look at the table of contents.” Each story had a legend by it.” Coulson had hoped he could have a couple of franks before Clint made him feel self-conscious about eating them, but apparently not. “And you don’t have to read it,” Coulson pointed out. 

“Is this what they think passes for porn up here? Jesus. I hope we find some magazines tucked away somewhere at the least.” Then Coulson vividly pictured Clint looking at a picture of a buxom blonde or petite redhead while furiously working his cock. Which, much to Coulson’s chagrin, he knew the contours of after seeing Clint naked a dozen or so times over the years. Clint adjusted himself then focused in on his food, getting off Coulson’s case for the time being. “Want to come out hunting with me? I figure I can get some rabbit at the very least.” They didn’t know how long they would be stuck up here so it was better to be careful about rations and make things last as long as possible. “We have a lot of shit to do.” 

They made a list and prioritized, finishing their meals along with a couple of out of date sodas Clint had wrangled up. He tossed a couple more in the snow drift outside the window along with a couple of bottles of vodka. Smart man, Coulson thought with a little smile. “There has to be more winter gear tucked away up there,” he nodded to an attic and Clint stood up and dusted his hands. “I didn’t mean now,” Coulson said as Clint gave the attic ladder a pull. The ladder came down and broke the second it hit the floor. “Shit.” 

“No problem.” Clint had to jump a few times, but after deciding to use the remnants of the ladder as a booster, he was able to grab a hold of the open hatch and pull himself up. And Coulson got to watch. The little noises Clint made when he was working out were just amplified as Clint finally flopped over up there, legs dangling down from the ceiling. “Got a light?” 

They’d decided to conserve the flashlights and lanterns as much as they could, but now was a good time to fire one up. “Two seconds,” Coulson told Clint. “Before you step anywhere, make sure you’ve got solid footing. Stay on the joists.” 

Coulson watched Clint’s feet disappear and his head and shoulders pop out the hatch. “This is far from the first attic I’ve walked through, Coulson. Just get the flashlight.” They were still buzzed and from the way Clint had been talking, he seemed to have no intention to sober up. Packs started to rain down and Coulson had to move out of the way into the bedroom so Clint didn’t have to aim. “Jesus. We’re armed to the teeth up here,” Clint told him. “I’m going to pass you down some rifles.” 

Coulson took them and lined the guns and supplies up as Clint did one more sweep through the attic. He hopped down like he wasn’t dropping fifteen feet from the ceiling, hopping through the maze of supplies. “They loaded this place for bear,” Clint pointed out as he flopped down next to the couch and started to open boxes. 

“Indeed.” Coulson didn’t know what to do with the stuff that had rained down on him. There really was a lot. “I say we start sorting then take an inventory.” 

“Coulson… you _would_ suggest paperwork.” Clint opted for dumping boxes out all over the room while Coulson hurried to sort things. From pens and toilet paper to canned banana bread, pretty much everything was there. Including an apocalypse bug out bag. “Oh… fun,” Clint slipped on a gas mask and staggered around a little. “Are you my mummy,” he asked in a passable British accent. 

“… I feel like I’m missing a reference,” Coulson said with a smile. 

“Stop watching Super Nanny and tune into something far better.” Coulson then got a lecture on British Science Fiction that he never would have expected coming out of Clint Barton. “One of the foster homes I was in had this old antenna tv in the attic and the only channel I could get was PBS. They showed reruns of the old show. I got into the new one with number Ten.”

“Sounds… interesting,” Phil told him. 

“Do me a favor,” Clint asked. “You’re standing up. Go get me the vodka out of the snow drift?” The sun was actually up now so Coulson wondered if that was good or bad. “I’m sobering up and I really don’t want to.” 

“You’re going to wind up with a hangover,” Coulson chided softly. 

“Only if I sober up.” Clint tapped his temple and winked. “I’m thinking ahead.” 

“Just stay drunk?”

“Until we get picked up. Then pop a banana bag in me and I’m golden.” Clint leaned back, scratching his inner thigh and drawing Coulson’s gaze. “No pun intended.” Coulson rolled his eyes. “What about you? You going to spend this impromptu vacation on inventory or you going to get drunk with me?” Clint grinned at him as Coulson reached out the window to fish the vodka from the snow. Clint was already up getting glasses. He tossed Coulson a big pot to scoop snow into and they brought the vodka inside. 

They went through a bottle and a half and were both obliterated by the time they crawled into bed. Coulson curled into Clint, pressing his cheek to the man’s shoulder. Clint didn’t seem to care, so Coulson just settled in and passed out. He woke hours later having turned over with Clint behind him, pressing into him hard. Rather, Clint was hard and pressing into him. Coulson was still pretty drunk and turned to look, finding Clint still asleep. But he was rubbing against Coulson, hard as fuck. He could feel dampness through his boxers. Fuck it felt good. It had been ages since Coulson was touched by another and he’d missed it. His last relationship had ended spectacularly bad and Coulson had been gun shy around men for awhile. But this was amazing. He groaned a little when he felt Clint’s hand tighten at his hip. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thought of Clint in this way a time or twelve, but to feel his cock pressing against Coulson’s ass cheek was entirely different. His drunken mind convinced him to reach out and pick up the Vaseline, meant for chapped skin, and took a bit on his fingertips. He rolled just a touch and slipped his hand down the back of his boxers, not disturbing Clint who was still rubbing against him. Coulson was quick, sliding his slick fingers between his cheeks before dipping a finger into himself a few times. 

Clint got a little more amorous, his hand making its way under Coulson’s waistband, roughly pushing the fabric down. Clint pawed at it a little before Coulson shifted his hips and got the fabric out of the way. Then it was bare skin to bare skin. And when had Clint lost his boxers? “Stomach,” Clint growled in Coulson’s ear and it struck him all at once that this wasn’t Clint finding a dream arousing and rubbing off on him. Coulson didn’t argue or even pause as he rolled onto his stomach, hips elevated on a pillow as Clint moved in behind him. He didn’t push at Clint’s hole, instead lining himself up between his cheeks. Clint was just this side of rough and Coulson’s breaths ran fast at the rough rutting and the way Clint’s lips lingered at the back of his neck. 

Coulson took a deep breath every time he felt the head push past his hole wanting more but worried he’d break he spell if he actually spoke. Instead he reached back to touch Clint’s hip. The man didn’t pull away or resist at all so Coulson continued. His hand moved to Clint’s prick, Coulson’s palm a little slick still. He could barely breathe as he gave Clint a few strokes before giving him a huge hint and lining up Clint’s cock with Coulson’s hole. Clint growled, his hand moving around Coulson’s chest, sliding in to lock him into place. Coulson was pulled up onto his knees and then Clint started to press forward. “My God,” Coulson cursed as the head of Clint’s cock started to push. It had been awhile, but it wasn’t like this was his first rodeo. Coulson tried hard to relax, the anticipation mixing with pain and pleasure into a fog that hung around him. “Clint,” was all he could say as the man’s cock pushed through, opening Coulson all at once and stealing any semblance of quiet from Coulson.   
The pain was intense, but once that passed there was the familiar burn of a hard stretch that had Coulson’s cock head glistening. Clint pressed forward slowly but didn’t pause at all until he was as far as Coulson’s body would let him go at the moment. This wasn’t meant to be making love, this was screwing… rutting… fucking. And God damn it was good. Coulson had needed it more than he could say, the feeling of being opened up by one of his closest friends was intoxicating. Even more so than the vodka. Clint had him waning just a little bit because of a too hard push that made Coulson gasp. Still, they kept going. Clint cursed in his ear every now and then, bending to cup his body to Coulson’s, covering most of Coulson’s bare skin. 

Coulson felt Clint speeding up, their breathing synched for awhile now. Coulson ached but his cock wept on the sheet underneath him. Clint’s hips were moving fast, pumping roughly until Coulson hung in this glorious netherworld between pleasure and pain until the sensation of Clint cumming inside him tipped him to pleasure. A few strokes of his own hand and Coulson came hard, getting a whole new round of groans from Clint. Despite having cum, Clint fucked him for awhile, until he softened. It kept Coulson on the edge so that he was shaking underneath Clint when the man finally laid on him. Clint didn’t pull out, just stayed inside as long as he could, his mouth working drunkenly at Coulson’s shoulders and the back of his neck. He drifted off with Clint pressed to his back naked. 

He woke alone, sore, and pretty hung over. At least there was a note, Coulson thought as he turned over to see no sign of Clint. The bed smelled like sex and booze and Coulson kind of liked that. “Fuck,” Coulson slipped out of bed, grumbling to himself as his thighs clenched and his asshole shuddered. Clint hadn’t been gentle. Coulson sought out pain killers and took them with some coffee Clint had left him. Apparently Clint was out hunting. With a bottle of vodka, Coulson noted as there was one more missing from the crate. That worried Coulson, but Clint was a capable man. Hopefully he wasn’t being stupid. 

Clint returned with two pheasants and a rabbit, a big grin plastered on his face. “I killed ‘em,” Clint slapped the spoils down on the counter, “you grill ‘em?” With an obnoxious little Clint Barton brow wiggle, Coulson somehow agreed to gut and cook three creatures. It wasn’t his first time, but hunting wasn’t really his thing. “What, nervous, Coulson?” 

“Nervous, no. Slightly grossed out, yes.” 

“C’mon. Don’t be a pussy.” Clint set his bow down on the table and pulled of his quiver. “Get a couple pots of water boiling.” Coulson’s eyes followed the line of a nasty bruise forming on Clint’s right forearm. Being Hawkeye, Clint followed Coulson’s gaze. “a cat and I disagreed about whose rabbit that was.” Coulson knew better than to push the story, just nodding. “Get an apron or change into something you don’t mind getting bloody.” Then Clint did something Coulson didn’t think was possible, he made prepping his kills sexy as fuck. After awhile, Coulson found himself just staring and Clint wasn’t pushing him doing the prep so he said nothing. “Grab me a clean shirt?” 

Coulson almost had to shake himself out of it when Clint spoke. “A shirt… yeah.” Coulson’s eyes were stuck to Clint’s biceps as he pulled his dirty undershirt off. He was smudged with dirt but looked all the more appealing for it. 

Coulson blinked up at Clint as he approached, Coulson’s body tensing and driving a deep ache through his backside. “Or you could just get on your knees and suck my cock.” The boldness shocked Phil, but Clint wasn’t done. “You rolled over so easily last night.” Clint’s fingers moved over Coulson’s shoulder to the back of his neck. “Didn’t expect it.” Clint might not have expected that, but Coulson didn’t expect the slightest pressure at the back of his neck from Clint to send the older man to his knees, hands already fumbling for his belt. “That’s it. Fuck, Coulson.” Clint’s head tipped back because the second Coulson got Clint’s cock free, it was in his mouth. Coulson went down, taking as much of Clint as he could, shocked when the man kept pushing. “All of it, Coulson. Don’t stop.” Clint wasn’t small, but he also wasn’t totally hard yet. If he had a shot, it was now, so Coulson did everything he could to control his gag reflex as he let Clint push him down all the way and hold him there. “Fuckin’ a, Coulson… that’s it.” 

He was allowed a quick breath then pushed down again and held, longer this time. Coulson’s eyes watered and his body tried to pull back, but Clint was strong. And it was good, better than Coulson had ever imagined. Clint was strong, focused, and delightfully dominant. The whole thing wouldn’t leave this house, but for now Coulson was happy to play along. Clint let him up, catching Coulson’s face between his thumb and fingers. “I’m gonna fuck you. Go lay over the table.” For a moment, Coulson searched Clint’s eyes, trying to decide if this was insanity or just two men blowing off some steam. 

Instead of questioning it too deeply, Phil stood up and moved to the table. He heard Clint rooting around in the cabinets, eventually coming up with some oil meant for cooking. It would do in a pinch. “Take your pants off and kneel on the bench.” Coulson was shocked at how readily he was taking the man’s instructions. Clint wasn’t even questioning, just taking control, and maybe that was it. Coulson’s pants hit the floor and he found himself breathless and kneeling, bent over the table for Clint. “You even touch yourself,” Clint nodded at Coulson’s cock hanging nice and hard between his legs. 

“No,” he replied, not sure if he was ashamed or proud. 

“Good. Keep it that way.” And suddenly he felt two slick fingers pushing into him and Clint’s breath on his neck. Coulson shuddered, gasping out Clint’s name as his hands grasped the end of the table. “Fuckin’ natural bottom,” Clint observed as two fingers slid easily in and out. “Sure you howled at first, but you just opened up after a minute last night, and once you opened up for me…mmmmmm.” Clint hooked the two fingers inside him down, pulling Coulson back with just them, getting a gasping cry. Clint’s thumb pushed in hard behind Coulson’s balls and he saw stars, a huge drip of precum pushed from the head of his cock getting a desperate, shuddering moan out of Coulson. “You open up like that for just anyone?” The thumb behind his balls was rubbing now, the two fingers inside doing the same over his prostate until Coulson let out another of those shuddering gasps. “I asked you a question.”

The sensation paused and Coulson got his head again, especially when Clint picked that moment to roughly add a third finger. “God… it’s… it’s been… long… it’s been a long time,” Coulson finally got out. “Clint, please.” 

“Good,” was all Coulson heard before Clint took the next few minutes to use three fingers and a thumb to make Phil’s cock weep. It was no secret that Barton fucked around and Phil had even heard rumors that he was good, but over the ten years they’d known each other, Coulson could think of twenty women and maybe two men. Besides those odds being terrible, Coulson also didn’t think himself Clint’s type. Coulson moved a hand to adjust himself and Clint slapped it hard, grabbing Coulson’s wrist and pulling it up into the small of his back. “I told you not to touch yourself.” It was growled into Coulson’s ear and he thought he might cum right then. He wasn’t a naturally submissive guy, and maybe he’d blame it on having taken up Clint’s philosophy of getting drunk and staying there, but this seemed like the easiest thing in the world. If he did what Clint told him, he got to feel good, if he didn’t, well… 

Clint currently had both of Coulson’s hands pinned at the small of his back, held tight enough that Coulson was going to feel the strain of it in his arms later. “Keep them like this,” Clint told Coulson of his wrists as three fingers fucked into his ass roughly. “Do you hear me?” 

“Yes…yes, I hear you.” Coulson’s thighs were trembling and he was making a mess on the wooden floor of the safe house. “Fucking hell…. Barton please.” He wanted to reach back, to touch Clint or encourage him. Instead, he kept his arms as they were and just arched his back. Coulson was fully aware of the picture he must have presented kneeling there for Clint. He turned his cheek so it pressed into the cool wood of the table, getting a good look at the archer. He was shirtless, a little sweaty, and taking a long pull from a bottle of vodka when Coulson looked back. All the while, the fingers inside Coulson pulled and directed him with zero mercy. 

“Please what, Coulson?” Clint slid his fingers from Coulson’s body a little too fast, leaving him aching, wanting, his body gripping around nothing. Coulson very nearly objected before he saw Clint’s hand close around his cock, oil spreading over the shaft. “Use your words, sir.” Clint used the word sir mockingly in that moment. 

“Fuck me, Barton. Jesus…. “ Phil had been close to cussing him out but Clint moved in fast, lining up and pushing in roughly, cutting off any coherent thought in Coulson’s mind. His arms slipped and he felt Clint remind him by lining his wrists up and holding both with one broad, strong hand. He used the point as leverage, sinking into Coulson completely on his own timetable. 

“One of the great things about this safe house,” Clint told Coulson with a playful smile on his lips, “no one can hear you begging for my cock.” If Coulson had ever heard a better suggestion, he wasn’t sure what it was. Clint had him stuck in a slow, unrelenting in and out where Clint pushed every bit of himself into Coulson and stayed there well past the point of comfortable, crushing Coulson with his weight for a few moments before he pulled all the way out. It was the all the way out that was killing Coulson, the constant re-penetration made his asshole gasp in agony at first. When Clint shifted his angle a little and started fucking directly over his prostate, Coulson changed his tune and started to actually letting himself make a little noise like suggested. Clint’s body overwhelmed Coulson, not an easy thing to do, but he had several inches on Coulson and about 30 pounds, maybe more. Phil was shocked at how good it felt to have Clint like this, so rough and demanding. It wasn’t anything he’d ever anticipated enjoying let alone at the hands of a subordinate. 

“Oh… oh God,” Coulson’s balls pulled up hard and he was cumming before he could stop himself. 

Clint realized what was going on and maintained a ruthless pace, leaving Coulson crying out pretty damn loud by the end. He growled quietly in Coulson’s ear as he ground out every drop of seed, “don’t think that because you’re done that I’m done with you.” Clint sat up a bit and started to have Coulson harder yet, the slap of their skin against each other was a sound Phil was tucking away for a rainy day. Coulson loved the way Clint was half animal right now, pulling alternating bursts of pleasure and agony from an oversensitive Coulson. And that was before Clint’s hand wrapped roughly around his cock. Clint didn’t so much stroke him as just provide a channel for his cock to slip inside of. It was loose enough for free movement, but tight enough that there was no escape. Coulson was stroked past orgasm into agony and was giddy when he finally felt Clint sink into him and cum. 

“God damn, Coulson.” Clint breathed against his shoulder, a shoulder littered with Clint Barton’s teeth marks. Which way was up again? “You take it like a man.” Clint ran his teeth over the nape of Coulson’s neck in a primal gesture that had him clamping down around Clint once more. “Soon as I get it up again, you’re going to grab your ankles for me, aren’t you?” Clint was still inside him, rocking a little. 

“Without a doubt,” Coulson answered, turning his head to look at Clint again. The man was just standing there, looking incredibly sexy, still impaled inside Coulson’s ass. “Clint…” 

“I would have fucked you earlier if I’d known what a little bottom bitch you are, Coulson.” Clint’s hands squeezed Coulson’s cheeks, parting them so Clint’s softening cock could push deeper. Christ, the guy had to be hurting by now but he wasn’t budging. 

“Only here, ok… got it?” Clint looked at him, meeting Coulson’s eyes and searching them. 

“You’re saying that you’ll let me fuck you as long as we’re here, treat you like that?” Coulson licked his lips without thinking, squeezing down around Clint hard with very conscious thoughts about that. “You’ll go ass up for me when I demand it?” Clint slid out of Coulson, hands holding the man open so his asshole kept trying to clamp down around nothing. 

“Y… yes, Clint.” Coulson swallowed thickly then looked at him, turning on his knees on to face Clint. “Yes… Sir.” 

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Clint’s fingers ran through Coulson’s sweaty hair before he grabbed him roughly by the face. “While you’re waiting for me to get hard, I want you to stay over the table. I’m getting you paper and pen and you’re going to write down any hard limits.” Clint positioned Coulson back how he wanted him, setting the half-finished bottle of vodka down next to him. “Drink if you need, but don’t let a drop of my cum spill out of you.” Clint’s fingers ran up and down his crack, spreading Coulson’s cheeks. “Not a drop.” Clint pushed two fingers into Coulson, getting a desperate gasp. “Mmmmmmm.” Coulson jumped when he felt Clint’s teeth sink into his right ass cheek as the two fingers left his body. What in the ever living hell was he doing and what had he just said yes to? 

Clint came back wth promised pen and paper and demanded that Coulson start writing for him. “Clint, I….”

“I’m going to read it with you right here next to me, then we’re going to walk over there and burn it,” he nodded at the fire. Coulson noticed that Clint had stoked it a bit and wondered when that happened. How had he missed it? Clint had also come back with some thick salve that smelled a little minty. “Good, not a drop spilled,” Clint praised as Coulson felt cool fingertips brush his hole. “Arch your back.” Clint’s palm landed at the small of his back, forcing the arch as those two cool fingers pushed inside. “Relax, Coulson.” Clint’s thumb came in behind his balls again and he started rocking, getting Coulson anything but relaxed. “Spread your thighs.” Clint wasn’t kind, milking Coulson’s prostate in a persistent, firm rhythm that was utterly inescapable. He found it harder and harder to write as his cock filled back out without a touch, a fucking miracle if ever he’d experienced one. “Keep writing.” 

“Clint, I…”

“Sir,” Clint corrected before slapping his right thigh really… really hard. “Now what did you need to say?”

“Sir…” Coulson was still trying to shake off the ache in his thigh muscle, the sting vivid on his skin, “I… I can’t focus l…like this.” Clint gave relentless pressure and Coulson thought his head might legitimately explode. “Cl… SIR, SIR,” he corrected before Clint could slap him again. 

“Good that you corrected yourself,” Clint told him, rewarding Coulson with a hand around his cock. Coulson thought his eyes were going to bug out of his damn head when the calloused palm wrapped around him. “Do not cum, Coulson. Got it?” Phil nodded and Clint started stroking. It took Coulson a moment to realize that he’d put the icy-minty salve on his palm and coated Coulson’s cock. Sensation took over and Coulson was humping Clint’s hand in under a minute. “Keep writing, cock whore.” Clint’s fingers inside and the loose, cool hand around his cock were driving Coulson mad. He had written very little but managed to get the big ones down. “What are your hard limits, faggot?”

Coulson looked over his shoulder at Clint, shocked that he used that word. Bottom bitch was fine. Cock whore was fine, but faggot hurt. “That… no … no gay slurs.” Clint nodded and leaned in to run his teeth down Coulson’s ass cheek in apology. “A… and… “ Clint had him close and seemed to know it because he picked that moment to slip his hand from Coulson’s cock. Relief and disappointment mixed at the loss of touch, but Clint’s fingers kept milking his prostate slow and firm. 

“And?” Clint’s thumb dug in hard behind his balls, bringing Coulson’s attention back to the moment. “And what?” 

“A… and… nothing… no… “ Coulson’s forehead hit the table as a wave of pleasure ran through him. Clint, of course, pushed it past pleasure to pain and left it there for a long time, fingers roughly pressing at Coulson’s prostate to force long strings of seed from the tip of his prick. All Coulson could do by then was pant and shove the paper in Clint’s direction. He was done writing, thinking. All he wanted and needed was for Clint to be inside him. Like now. Maybe like ten minutes ago. His body ached, asshole stretched out and used hard. His lower back and thighs spasmed as Clint continued his rough treatment of Coulson’s prostate as he read. He made little affirmative noises before crumpling it up and throwing it in the fire as promised. 

“Good boy. Thank you.” Clint laid his teeth into Coulson’s backside, biting hard enough to leave a bruise he’d feel for days. The mint salve was tingling on his cock and all Coulson wanted was to be taken. Clint seemed to read his mind because the man’s fingers moved out so they could be immediately replaced by the fat, blunt head of Clint’s cock. “Well you tightened right back up,” Clint pointed out after pushing through the first two inches pretty roughly. “Good.” There was a sinister sound to that _good_ like it was more _good, now let’s see what I can do to change that._ Coulson trembled at the thought of Clint using him until he could barely tighten back up, until he’d exhausted Coulson’s asshole utterly. He couldn’t say it was a thought that had crossed his mind in the past, but right now all he wanted was to stay ass-up for Clint until he had fucked his fill. 

“S… sir… please,” Coulson’s hands gripped Clint’s hips, squeezing. 

“Please what, whore?” Coulson felt Clint’s fingers sink into his hair before his head was pulled up hard enough to strain his neck. “Use your words, slut.”

“Fuck me… GOD. Please, please… fuck me, Clint.” He’d slipped and knew punishment was coming. Coulson didn’t expect how. “Sir… SIR!” But it was too late. Clint gabbed the back of his neck and held him down as he sunk in to the root and stayed there, pushing as deep as he could then spreading Coulson’s cheeks to spear him a bit deeper. Clint stayed there, bottomed out inside Phil, until his ass tried to push the man out. Then Clint just put his weight into it, all 220 pounds of the archer seeming to be behind that huge spear inside Coulson’s ass. He started to squirm, then he started to whimper. By the time he was quietly begging, Clint’s hand was closing around his cock. “Sir… please.” 

Coulson had thought he knew what he was in for after he slipped, but Clint staying speared in him while stroking his cock at an agonizingly slow pace wasn’t quite what he expected. But it was torment. Total and complete torment. Clint worked slow and deep enough Coulson thought he could taste his cock. His quiet whimpers turned to cries pretty quickly, especially when Clint drug a heavily calloused thumb over the head of Coulson’s cock. “What’s my name, whore?” 

“Sir,” Coulson gasped out immediately. Clint slowly pulled out just a touch, giving Phil space to breathe before slamming back in. He did it over and over and over and over Coulson called for him. Every slam home into Coulson’s body was punctuated by a gasp of, “yes, SIR!” At one point Coulson felt the table digging into his hips and he was aware that he’d bruise. Coulson figured he was going to come up with a lot of bruises after this. “Sir…. Sir!” Clint was relentless, shifting the bench a little each time he thrust into Coulson. At some point Coulson was pretty sure he left his own body and was watching himself be pummeled from across the room. Either that or he was seeing their reflection in the glass of the kitchen window. “Sir, please… please….” Coulson found his nails digging into the wood of the table woke him up because a splinter slipped up behind his nail. 

He felt Clint cup his body down around him, the man’s strong bicep sliding across Coulson’s chest, bringing his hand around the man’s shoulder to lock him in tight. Knowing that Clint was near his end, Coulson just reached up and stroked the man’s arm, giving him a little nod as he leaned into Clint’s elbow with his throat. “Fuck, baby,” Clint groaned and followed Coulson’s gesture by tightening up his grip, starting to cut off blood flow to Coulson’s brain as his hips began to move once more. Coulson’s vision dimmed as he was fucked, held up by the table at his hips and Clint’s arm around him because it felt like none of his muscles were working whatsoever. “Jesus Christ,” Clint ground out through gritted teeth. “Such a good bitch. Fuck… such a good hole.” Coulson felt teeth at his shoulder and knew Clint was ready. He took all the strength he had to squeeze down around Clint’s cock to pull him over the edge. And it worked. Clint pumped deep into him, squeezing Coulson’s throat viciously until his vision was starting to go. “Stroke your cock, cum for me, slut.” 

Coulson didn’t exactly remember cumming. He remembered touching his cock and feeling like his head was about to pop off his neck. It didn’t take much and he was flying, screaming out Clint’s name with what little breath he had before the lights went out and Phil Coulson was down for the count.


End file.
